


And Loving Words

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Series: Barking at the Moon [2]
Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Denial of Feelings, Ezekiel needs a hug, Feels, Getting Together, Multi, OT3, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Threesome, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: Sometimes, he'll lay in his bed with its silk sheets and down pillows, staring at his Words, and he knows that whoever the Liar and the Lost are, they won't love him, if they ever even meet him. Nobody loves a thief, do they?





	And Loving Words

When Zeke's Words appear on his wrist, they confuse the blinking daylights out of him. One, because he has  _two_ of them, not just one like everybody else that he knows does. And two, they aren't even names, just...well, words.

 _Prodigy_ and  _Champion._

When he's  _finally_ old enough to go to school, he asks the teacher for a dictionary and looks up his Words, wanting to know what they mean.

Prodigy—noun; a person, especially a child or young person, having extraordinary talent or ability; something wonderful or marvelous.

Champion—noun; a person who fights for or defends any person or cause; a fighter or warrior.

Zeke is so proud of his Words then, once he knows that he has someone so smart to look after him and someone else so strong to take care of him.

* * *

His Words change not long after he learns how to pick pockets and steals enough money to buy himself something to eat.

There's nothing at home, that tosser his mum is "dating" drinks all their money.

 _Prodigy_ becomes  _Lost_ , and he feels the loss hollow out his own chest.

 _Champion_ becomes  _Liar_ , and he feels it ache in all his bruises and scrapes.

* * *

Zeke starts calling himself by his full name when he's put into foster care.

Just like that stupid poncy poem says, he puts aside childish things and whatever else.

He's Ezekiel Jones now, and no matter how long it takes or who he has to steal from, he's never going to be laughed at again.

He's a thief, and nobody laughs at a thief.

* * *

Ezekiel knows that thieving is the one thing he is good at, the  _only_ thing that he's good at, so he strives to be the best, always on top, always  _the best._ He won't settle for anything less. He doesn't do easy, he does impossible.

Still, there is always a piece of someone, no matter how small or deeply-buried, that doesn't like to do bad things. Even in world-class thieves like him.

Sometimes, he'll lay in his bed with its silk sheets and down pillows, staring at his Words, and he knows that whoever the Liar and the Lost are, they won't love him, if they ever even meet him.

Nobody could love him, not after all the bad things he's done, all the people he's stolen from. Sure, he's never ruined anybody's life or anything, but still. A thief is a thief is a thief.

And nobody loves a thief, do they?

* * *

When  _Liar_ becomes  _Stone,_ Ezekiel feels a relief that takes him so completely by surprise that he has to sit down.

When  _Lost_ becomes  _Traitor,_ Ezekiel feels like punching that stupid bloody cowboy right in the mouth. Or getting Baird to do it for him. Either way.

* * *

Ezekiel sees the way Cassandra gets close to Stone, sees how the cowboy always glances back to make sure she's okay, sees how she tucks herself into his side after a math spell leaves her with a roaring headache.

He risks a glance at his Words again—he's been careful to keep them covered up, either with his watch or long sleeves—and how about that, it's  _Cassie_ and  _Historian_ now.

He goes to rob the Antiquities Floor of the British Museum just so he doesn't have to see them together. It hurts too much to watch.

* * *

He knows that he's being left out, and he tells himself time and again that he doesn't  _care._ He's never heard of a three-way soulbond anyways, maybe it's some kind of fluke. Cassandra and Stone are made for each other, and he's stuck on the outside like an orphan in a Dickens novel or something.

But whatever. Why should he care? He's Ezekiel Jones, he's the best thief in the world. He doesn't need those two to be happy.

The consistent ache of longing that's taken up lodging right underneath his breastbone says otherwise, though.

Doesn't matter. He's still a thief. Nobody loves a thief.

* * *

The first time he thinks that he might actually belong here, in the Library with Cassandra and Stone, with Baird and Flynn and yes, even the old codger, it's after he nearly dies.

Figures.

A bunyip has hold of his ankle with its fifteen-foot tongue and is yanking him towards the water, jaw gaping wide to turn him into monster munchies. He scrabbles at the ground, but there's nothing to hold onto, and he waits to feel sharp teeth on his legs...

Except that the cowboy's suddenly there, holding onto him with arms that are used to physical labour, digging his heels into the dirt and refusing to let go even as the monster pulls them both towards its jaws, albeit much slower now.

And then Cassandra is there too, despite the fact he told them to  _run,_ snatching up the axe that Stone dropped, and she whacks off the last foot or so of the bunyip's tongue in a spray of blood that looks like thick ink, splattered on her white skirt and raspberry tights.

The monster shrieks and vanishes back into the reservoir.

Stone falls back on his ass at the sudden lack of resistance, both arms still looped around Ezekiel's chest; the end result is that Ezekiel is nearly sitting on his sodding lap. Before he can squirm away, though, Cassandra drops the axe and lunges forward to hug him, pinning him between herself and the cowboy.

"Don't you  _ever_ do something so fucking stupid again, Jones," Stone growls beside his ear in that low southern twang that is absolutely  _not_ a turn-on. Nope.

"Please, Ezekiel. Promise," Cassandra whispers.

He hasn't been able to promise that since his Prodigy and his Champion left him. But they are so  _worried_ about him, and he nods in silent acquiescence.

It's the first time it's ever occurred to him that he might still be a thief, but maybe he can be just Jones, too.

* * *

They're actually bloody camping. Out in the woods. In a  _tent._ It makes him shudder. Have neither of them heard of a luxury RV before? He'd even take a normal one if it meant not sleeping on the ground.

"Zeke," Cassandra murmurs as she leans against his shoulder, half-asleep in front of their little campfire, and Ezekiel tries to shy away from the name. He isn't Zeke, he hasn't been for  _years._

Zeke was a stupid kid that everybody made fun of for being poorer than dirt, Zeke was a good kid that people could love and care about.

He is Ezekiel Jones, and he is a thief. He is not poor, and he is not good.

He tries to pull away, wriggle away without disturbing her, but Stone sits down next to him, close enough their knees touch, and drops a heavy arm across his shoulders, holding him there.

"Quit squirmin', Jones," the cowboy rumbles, the corner of his mouth turning up.

He stops squirming.

* * *

The first time Cassandra and Stone invite him into their bed, he thinks they've both completely lost the plot.

That is, of course, until they both show him their wrists...and their Words.

It doesn't say  _Thief_ on either of them. It's  _Jones._

Nobody loves a thief...but he's not a thief. He's Jones, and he's theirs.

* * *

Alright, so he isn't Zeke anymore. He's not that good kid that everybody made fun of because he's poor.

He isn't the best anymore, either. He's not a world-class thief that nobody laughs at and nobody loves.

He's still Jones, though. He's a Librarian, he has a Guardian that's more like a mum than his actual mum, a Library that he loves more than his own flat, and he has his soulmates. Both of them.

And when Stone puts a warm, strong arm around his shoulders, or when Cassandra wraps herself around him like a strawberry-scented, math-spouting blanket, he thinks that maybe one day, he can be their Ezekiel.


End file.
